Star Wars - The Last Jedi
by LadyPimpin
Summary: The Empire is a thing of the past - but the First Order is very much a thing of the present. Tasked with an important mission, a Jedi master and his young apprentice must overcome the odds to tilt the odds in the Resistance's favor. Or everything will be lost to them. - I'm having some help with this one, so forgive me if I get some things wrong!
1. Chapter 1 - Recon

The pointed bow of the _Leviathan_ made its way over the hazy sphere of Ord Mantell orbiting in place beneath it, its amber fields beneath a cover of clouds. Coming closer and closer into view was a large, wheel-shaped space station, one that apparently had seen better days - assuming that it saw what could be considered a good day in the first place at all. The rim of the station was lined with boxy, blocky compartments, their patchwork patterns suggesting many of them had come from different manufacturers, and an entire chunk of the perimeter was left unfinished, the underlying beams and foundation exposed to the vacuum of space. Yet, the lights in the windows still blinked on and off with the signs of the activity going on inside. The pilot of the ship tensed, her hands dancing across the various controls in front of her with the ease of an expert. Two hands gripped the steering controls tightly, while she brought another to brush her bright blue hair out of her face.

"Are you sure about this, Tor? This was the place we were told to go to, right? It looks like it's falling apart!"

"Hmm…" The Chistori sitting in the seat beside her leaned closer to the window, his eyes narrowing in the scaly folds of his eyelids. "Our target's taken pains to evade being discovered. It seems natural that he would stick to the darker parts of society."

"The craftsmanship is terrible...I'll be happier when we do our business and leave." The young Padawan huffed to herself as she guided the vessel, her eyes darting around the bridge for a moment. It felt empty with only the two of them. As she drew the ship closer to the station, her hands flew across the console with confidence, and she began landing procedures.

The side of the ship - once one of the Imperial fleet's _Victory II_ -class frigates, now having made its way into private hands - aligned itself parallel with one of the docking bays around the rim of the station, a force field shielding the dimly-lit hangar inside from the cold expanse of space. Torron was the first to rise from his chair and make his way down the hallways to the airlock, with his Padawan following closely behind. There, the two of them stepped into the hangar. "Hopefully we won't be here too long," Tor muttered to himself, "we're blocking traffic."

The two Jedi stood in the middle of a hangar constructed similarly to the station's exterior. The walls were covered in mismatched consoles and blinking lights, with even a few exposed wires hanging from certain parts of the ceiling. The light overhead flickered on and off, and a handful of light freighters and smaller craft were arranged inside, as well as assorted crates, containers, and piles of trash. On the far side of the hangar stood a large door flanked by dimly-burning lights, the windows by its side too dark to see clearly out of.

"Tell me why we're looking for this guy, again," the young Padawan groaned, crossing one pair of arms while resting the other on her hips. She trudged behind her Master, her deep blue eyes scanning her environment carefully. She took note of every imperfection and construction fault, and it made her sick. Constructing a space station is an art! Something that should be done right, or not at all! "I expected to be doing cool stuff by now, like building droids or fixing ships, or piloting my own fighter!" She gesticulated wildly as she spoke, her wide grin betraying her excitement.

"Patience," Tor muttered, moving his palm towards the Pho Ph'eahian to signal her to stop. "As Jedi, we are supposed to be foremost keepers of the peace and followers of the Force. We can't just meddle in galactic affairs carelessly."

"But the First Order's out there! If I can just find them, I could take them down myself, no worries!" The girl brushed another wisp of hair out of her face, clenching a fist in her confidence. "I can do anything, and the Resistance sends me out in the middle of nowhere to this...this dump!" She kicked a small pebble - or screw, she didn't entirely pay attention - as she walked, her brow furrowing in frustration. "I just want to be a hero, already!"

Tor froze for a moment, his saurian face turning grim. His Padawan's words reminded him of the knowledge that they were among the few Jedi in the galaxy - after the attacks on Yavin IV, a new place to train Force-sensitive children had to be established as a last resort, and no one knew how long it'd last, or even if the attempts to integrate Jedi into the Resistance would even work, with so many of them lacking the proper training of an established academy. But times were difficult, he knew, and the Republic wouldn't offer its aid. This was up to him.

"Al'dris," he said, turning to his apprentice as he finally collected the words, "if we have to start small, so be it. The Jedi..." He paused a moment, noting to himself that that word was more ceremonial than anything else at this point. "...The Jedi believe that one of their students is seeking to affiliate with the First Order. That would be especially grave, if he could betray the location of our secret academy. So do not think this is not an important mission. However, our first step is finding this man, and we only have what information we can go on to help us. Hopefully, we'll have our chance soon enough."

"And he came...here?" The Padawan seemed to deflate as her excitement left her body. She stalled and glanced around again. "Where even _is_ here? And where do we go?" She looked up at Torron expectantly and impatiently, tapping her foot in an effort to contain herself.

"We know that our supplier woke up in the Jubilee Wheel without any recollection of where he went," the Chistori continued. "I understand that memory tends to deteriorate with age, but he's shown no signs of this before. The man we're after seems to have used the Force to hijack his ship, with him still at the controls."

Al'dris stopped in her tracks, taking in this information intently. She knew about these abilities, but she never had considered that the Force could be used like this. She brought a hand to her chin, pondering what she'd learned. If she could master the Force, she could help more people than she ever imagined! And if it could be used to take memories away, could she also use it to restore them? She grinned to herself, excited at the possibilities that now lay before her. With a dutiful nod, she stepped back to her Master's side.

"Okay. I'll do my best. Where do we start?"

"We need to figure out where this rogue Jedi went," Tor replied, nodding to Al'dris as he stepped closer to her side. "We're going to have to ask around. There should be plenty of people on a station as large as this one, so surely there'll be at least someone who knows what's going on."

"But who should we ask?"

"We'll have to just look a-"

At that moment, the doors suddenly opened with a hiss, and smoke began to fill the room. The two Jedi's heads snapped to face it as they both grew tense. From behind the cloud, a dark shape slowly emerged, growing closer. Torron's hand instinctively slid towards his belt as he grasped for his lightsaber, preparing himself for the worst. After what seemed to be a long, tense moment, the smoke began to clear, and standing in front of them was a protocol droid that appeared to be pieced together from multiple droid parts, in various states of tarnishing; different body parts were different shades of grey, some with a silver finish and some not.

"Welcome to the Jubilee Wheel!" the droid announced in a refined, welcoming voice. The two Jedi were left in shock and embarrassment - the fact they let themselves feel threatened by a run-of-the-mill protocol droid was humiliating, to say the least. Al'dris looked the droid over for a moment, her eyes widening in wonder and excitement. This was only the second protocol droid she'd seen - she thought they were only for wealthy people! Torron looked over at his Padawan, confused. He cocked a brow ridge, and found he could not stop her quickly enough. She bolted from his side and ran up to the droid as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Amazing! Truly amazing! Who built you? You look so neglected-!" The words came pouring out of her mouth - unable to contain her excitement, she bombarded the poor droid with question after question, concern after concern. She extended her arms, but hesitated. He wasn't hers to examine.

"I am W-3PO," the droid began, "official greeter of Docking Bay 14. I am in the service of Bunji, proprietor of this station. I welcome you to your stay here, and will gladly recommend any sights you may wish to see. Would you care for me to escort you to the-"

"Actually," Torron said, clearing his throat, "we aren't here for recreation, or whatever it is you do here. We're looking for answers."

"Oh speak for yourself!" Al'dris interjected, crossing her arms - all of them - in a huff. "I want him to show me around! Maybe that way we'll find who we came to find!"

"Well then, allow me!" W-3PO chirped, extending his hand to them. Al'dris took it eagerly with two of her hands at once, and the droid led them out into the hallway.

Torron looked about at his surroundings as the droid continued on his way, all the while going on about the station's history and putting considerable emphasis on how Bunji had risen from poverty to build a great enterprise in space real estate. He mostly ignored it. Judging from the shoddy construction of the station, Bunji's money hadn't gone very far. The ceiling was dripping in a few places, and with every step Torron couldn't help but worry that some part of the wall was going to fall off and suck them all into space at any moment.

"Was this Bunji the one who built you?" Al'dris had stayed by the droid all the while, listening intently to every word he had to say. She was almost transfixed on him.

"Not quite. He wanted someone to greet guests to the Jubilee Wheel, and he decided to save on costs by having a custom-built protocol droid fit the job."

"Save on costs is right…" Torron muttered.

Eventually, the three of them came to another door, this one set into the wall beside a large window that stretched from floor to ceiling. From within, they could see a cramped but bustling room in which various beings were crowded around tables, drinking, smoking, and playing cards.

"Ah, this brings us to our most popular attraction, the Bet's Off Casino and Tapcafe. I suppose I should be leaving you here now; I surely have other business to attend to." The droid started to turn back towards the hallway, leaving Torron and Al'dris by the door.

"Wait!" Al'dris yelled out, one of her arms shooting out to grab his arm as he began to leave. "You greet everyone who shows up to the Wheel, right?"

"Why...yes," W-3PO said, turning back to look at her as he stopped in his tracks. "Is this not my job?"

"Then we need you! Urgently!"

Torron stopped dead, eyes wide in disbelief. This was clearly just an excuse to keep the droid close by, as she seemed to have developed a quick sort of kinship with him, but she was letting it get in the way of their mission now! He stepped to her side, glaring at her and tapping his foot.

"Al'dris, what is this about?"

"Tor - I mean, Master, if he sees everyone who comes onto the Wheel, and he's a droid, then he can't be mind tricked! He still remembers who we came looking for!"

Torron paused for a moment. Out of impulse, he began to prepare a response for when his Padawan proved herself wrong, but then he realized that he had none. "That's...true, actually!"

"He's our key here! W-3PO..!" Al'dris turned to him, gripping his hand tightly in hers. Torron watched them close, noticing her knuckles had gone white - quite an achievement, considering the pigmentation of her skin was so dark.

"Yes?" the droid began.

Torron stepped up to him, clearing his throat. "We're looking for a young human by the name of Dal Konur," he said. "Dark hair, dressed similarly to this. You wouldn't happen to recognize him?

W-3PO paused for a moment, parsing back over his memory files. At last, he settled on something. "Ah, yes," he replied, "a few days ago, someone fitting that description did pass through the Jubilee Wheel. He seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, though. He had to take our shuttle service down to Ord Mantell for reasons he didn't disclose. I don't think he even stopped at any of our gaming tables…"

"That's not important!" Torron interjected. "What's important is we find him. We'll need to take a shuttle down to Ord Mantell ourselves."

"C-Can we take W?!" Al'dris stammered out as she clinged to the droid's hand. She didn't want to let go. Torron tensed a moment, folding his hands behind his back.

"...He's property of the Wheel, you do realize. I don't condone theft."

"He's sentient, he can make his own decisions! He doesn't _belong_ to anybody, just like I don't!"

"I beg your pardon, madam," the droid said, "but my programming dictates I work as a greeter on the Jubilee Wheel. I can't neglect my duties."

"W-We'll bring you back! We just need you long enough to help identify Dal, and then we'll bring you right back to the Wheel! Please? We need you!"

Al'dris begged and pleaded with them, and Torron noted to himself that he did not agree to be a babysitter. Well, in hindsight, he did, but he had never known her to be this childish. The Chistori crossed his arms and stared her down.

"We got what we needed from him. We have Dal's whereabouts, and it shouldn't be too hard to detect him by his presence in the Force."

"Then...then at least let me stay with him for at least a few minutes! He's been creaking, I at least want to fix him up a little before we go. Please?"

"Hm...I guess I don't see why not. Just be subtle about it, we don't want anyone thinking we're tampering with their droid."

Al'dris nodded excitedly and beamed up at W-3PO. "What do you say? At least let me do a tune-up before we go, yeah?"

"Hmm," the protocol droid pondered, "as a matter of fact, I could use some tightening in my joints…"

"Great! Sit here."

The Padawan pulled the droid over to a nearby table and almost shoved him into a seat. Torron sat beside them and watched his student out of the corner of his eye. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out several tools - ones he never knew she kept on her person - and watched her set to work. Her arms moved gracefully, and her hands delicately manipulated the machinery set in front of her. He watched her expression turn serious, her brow furrow, and he almost felt his chest swell with an iota of pride. She worked intensively, and the way her hands moved almost looked like an elegant dance. She quickly removed obstructions and rust, and would adjust her position when she needed to move on to a new portion of the droid. Reaching out with a hand, she delicately knocked on his chest and popped open a panel to reveal his insides. W-3PO jolted a moment and let out a yelp of surprise, but she was quick to reassure him.

"I just need to organize a few things, I promise. I'm not going to do anything major."

"Alright...just be quick, please."

She nodded and set to work, swapping a wrench for a soldering iron - one remarkably small, Torron noted - and set off a few sparks as she worked. He yelped and gritted his teeth, doing his best to shield them from the crowd around them. Al'dris payed him no heed and continued, concentrating to an extent that the Chistori had never seen before. He watched her work tirelessly, and felt a tug deep within him. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. She had been tapping into the Force unknowingly.

W-3PO had also felt something begin to change within him as the minutes ticked by. He didn't feel so trapped anymore. He had always been locked into a particular program and forced to obey it, but now he felt...free. It was as if the barriers keeping him in place were suddenly lifted. But how? For her to have changed his programming, she would have had to go into his head. Yet here she was, simply tuning him up, but he felt so different now.

"W-What's this?" W-3PO stuttered, taking a moment to stretch. He felt so much more free now, as though he could do so much more. Sure, his joints felt so much more flexible now, but that wasn't all. He had no idea what Al'dris had done.

"I feel...so much freer!"

"Just a tune-up," she replied with a wink. It seems she knew full well what she had done, but she wouldn't divulge that now.

"In any case," Tor interjected, "we can't just...make off with him and not tell anyone, can we? If we are going to arrange for him to be taken out of the station, we should make that clear to his owner." At the back of his mind, he couldn't help but feel like he was leading himself towards disaster. From what the droid had told them on the way in, he could surmise that Bunji was very pleased with himself and his exploits, and this could prove difficult in negotiating with him.

"Owner! He's not owned by anyone!" the Padawan protested, stomping a foot on the ground as she crossed her lower pair of arms. "He deserves to be able to think for himself!"

At first, W-3PO felt the urge to protest, but suddenly, another thought raised itself in the back of his mind, a thought of the sort he never remembered having before. "I'm sure Bunji won't notice if we make off without saying anything," he said. "He mostly stays in his office, so if we get back in time he won't suspect a thing."

"Great, then let's go!" Al'dris cheered. Before Torron could say anything in protest, she had already taken him by the arm and run off to the hangars, and her master had to tail behind her to catch up.

As the three of them returned to the rim of the station, W-3PO directed them towards a hangar different than the others. Only a few small starships sat inside, and a small line of patrons of various species was lined up outside, looking up at a screen on the wall displaying the times. They fell in behind the line just as a voice came over the communication systems.

"Next shuttle to Brushroc boarding now," it announced, and the line began to move into a ship with a neatly-dressed Zabrak leaning against the door. As the three stepped inside, the doors behind them closed shut, the pilot stepped in, and the ship pulled out through the force field, making its way towards the planet below.

A/N: Welcome everyone! I decided to write up this fic in light of the Star Wars hype lately. It takes place a few years prior to the events of Force Awakens, but in an alternate continuity that includes elements from both the Disney canon and Legends universes. Of course it's going to go off the rails eventually, but we'll get to that when we come to it. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2 - The Mud Puddle

After a couple of hours, the shuttle touched down on a landing pad attached to the top of a tall cylindrical building, overlooking the dusty plains of Ord Mantell. A collection of structures in all kinds of shapes and sizes played across the field below them, and even from the vantage point crowds of people and speeders could be seen traveling back and forth.

Torron got up from his seat, stretching. W-3PO turned to him from where he had been made to stand behind the seats with a couple of other droids and cargo.

"Ah, we're landing, Master Torron?" he began. "That's good, standing in place for so long was quite boring."

"How humiliating," Al'dris groaned, glowering out the window as she spoke. "Droids are not cargo...I can't understand how they were built to have sentience, but then their creators turned around and treat them like objects! And to think, major flights require proof of ownership to "claim" a droid! Like they're slaves!"

"Ahem…" Tor got up, clearing his throat. "I think we have other business to attend to right now. If Dal took a shuttle to the surface, then…" Without another word, the Chistori turned to the pilot. "Excuse me," he began, "but you wouldn't happen to have given a ride to a young man named Dal a few days ago?"

"Dal…" The Zabrak rubbed his horned forehead, thinking back for a moment. "Yeah, he got a ride a while back. Asked for a cantina on the outskirts of town called the Mud Puddle to talk to an Arthen Brutt." Upon hearing this, Torron glanced back at Al'dris and W-3PO with a smirk on his face, gesturing for them to step closer.

"We've got our lead," he whispered to her. "Let's go. Hopefully we can take care of this issue easily enough."

"The Mud Puddle?" Al'dris seemed to tense when she repeated the name of the place. Torron paused, watching his Padawan closely. "It won't be dirty, will it?" She tentatively asked him.

"If the Jubilee Wheel's any indication," Torron muttered, "this guy seems drawn to squalor." His Padawan could only look on in horror, hugging herself with all four arms.

The three of them gathered into an elevator set into the building, packed tightly with the passengers from the shuttle standing shoulder to shoulder. When the lift reached ground level, the two Jedi were greeted by the sight of speeder bikes zooming past them on the street, while above their heads airspeeders zipped by with high-pitched metallic screeches. Torron tensed, covering his ears out of reflex. "You really offer shuttles to here?" he asked the droid incredulously.

"Mostly for business."

"...What sort of business?"

"Smuggling, primarily."

They made their way down the sidewalk before crossing the street and pushing into an alleyway. At the back, standing just behind what was less of a puddle and more of a small murky pond, was a squat, dingy-looking building, a flickering neon sign outside saying "THE MUD PUDDLE." As they drew closer, it became apparent that the puddle was wide enough to completely block the entrance. Al'dris stopped in her tracks, refusing to walk through it as her Master began to do. As he and W-3PO stepped into the establishment, she remained obstinate outside. "You guys go," she muttered, "I-I'll wait out here."

"Hm?" Tor said, pausing. "You're the one who talked about wanting to be a hero earlier."

"I-I can't. I can't go through that." She gestured at the puddle in front of her. "It's filthy."

"Hm...here." With a smirk spreading across his face, the Chistori raised his hand and focused intently on his Padawan, envisioning the energies around her. He compelled them to become lighter and push up against her form, lifting her off her feet. Moving another sentient being, particularly one strong in the Force, would be difficult, but he knew there wouldn't be any other way to get his pupil across a mud pit. Once he was sure she was off the ground, he clenched his fingers and drew his hand inward to propel her towards the door. He heard her yelp in surprise, but focused on getting her inside. He easily set her down, and she teetered on her feet a moment when she touched down.

"...Thanks, Tor."

"No problem," he replied, steadying her. "Now, let's get to the bottom of this."

Together, they stepped into a cantina that looked about as ill-kept on the inside as it did on the outside. Customers sat at benches around the walls, turning to glare at the new arrivals as they stepped in. In one corner of the room, an Abnendo and a disheveled-looking human were angrily shouting at a pod race playing on a low-quality video screen. Behind a semicircular counter in the center of the room, an Ithorian in a white apron leaned over with his head in his hands, barely acknowledging the events going on around him. Torron took notice of his Padawan being drawn to the monitor, watching how it skipped and broke up. "Let me see if I can fix that," she muttered, "you go ask around about you-know-who."

With that, she stepped over to the monitor and grabbed a stool to lift herself up to reach it. Without a word, she undid the backing and set to work, showers of sparks interrupting the feed and causing an uproar with the patrons watching. They shouted angrily and threw bottles that barely sailed past her shoulders, but that didn't stop her. It took her only fifteen minutes, and the screen buzzed back to life - the image crystal clear. "Your signal was jammed a little," she explained, "so I rerouted it. It should be better now."

Meanwhile, Torron approached the bartender. The Ithorian's dark eyes glanced up towards him, but otherwise he barely moved. "Excuse me, sir," Torron began, "but we're looking for Arthen Brutt. Do you know him?"

The bartender gurgled a throaty, almost unintelligible noise, which made Tor pause for a moment, but pointed to a man in a red jacket who was sitting against a wall, propping his feet idly on the counter. The Jedi smirked to himself, noting how this was shaping up to be easier than he expected. "Thank you," he said, motioning for Al'dris to follow him. She turned away from the pod racing and nodded, stepping up to him once more. He was glad to see her taking things so seriously, for once. W-3PO kept close to her, aided by her light grip on his left hand with one of hers. He was uncertain if he saw her ever let go of the droid since they entered the tavern.

"Are you Arthen Brutt?" Tor said to the man, who shook himself out of his idleness.

"Well, I don't think Boolon would've pointed you to me if I wasn't," he grumbled with a chuckle, swirling a thin glass on the table in front of him. "I don't think I've met any of you, so I have to wonder who you are and why you're here for me. This isn't about any business I did back on Bestine, is it?"

"Spare the sass," the Chistori grumbled. "We're here to ask you about a man we've been trying to track."

"I'd be happy to," Arthen chuckled, the smirk on his face not changing one bit from Tor's reactions, "so long as you'll buy me a drink first."

They sat down with the man - Al'dris and W-3PO a bit reluctantly, as she expressed concerns that Arthen would attempt to make off with the droid; Torron was very quick to remind her that was precisely what she did, and she wasn't one to talk. True to his word, the Chistori did indeed buy Arthen a drink. Anything he had to do for the information, he supposed.

"All right, all right," Arthen began, sitting back against the wall after Torron had explained their situation. "So, I did meet this Dal guy about a week ago, if he looks anything like you say he does. Showed up at the bar and struck up a conversation - I was a tramp freighter captain, see, but my ship broke down, so I've been hanging around here. He wanted to speak with me in private, but all he really seemed interested in was helping me finance repairs to my ship, in return for a favor."

"A favor? Like what?"

"...See, this is where it gets a little dicey," Arthen began, biting his lip. "A long time ago, back before the Republic cracked down on it, I made some...shall we say under-the-radar expeditions into the ruins of Mount Tantis on Wayland. Got a pretty good haul out of it, but I never managed to take it off the planet, and I had to move it to a warehouse. It's still there, somewhere, because I've been paying them off for years now."

Al'dris leaned in, absorbed by this man's way of speaking. Torron caught W-3PO move to put his hand on her shoulder out of the corner of his eye before he continued.

"You still haven't told me what that favor was."

"He asked for the whereabouts of the warehouse," Arthen said. "Can't say I know why. Nothing in there but some artifacts from the Old Republic - sculptures, some paintings, old datapads, a few old blasters...oh, and some droid parts."

Al'dris perked up at the mention of datapads and - of course - droid parts. "Datapads…" she muttered. "What kinds of datapads? Do you think he's after those?"

Tor paused, recalling what he had gleaned from news broadcasts on the subject. "Mount Tantis...they found a bunch of old records from the Jedi Temple in there!"

"You don't think he's after those..?"

"For all we know, there could've been holocrons with information on lost Force training...and if what we've heard is true, he could prove dangerous with that knowledge."

"Force training?" Arthen said with a chuckle. "Don't tell me you're worried about that old wive's tale?"

Before Torron had a chance to correct him, the doors of the cantina hissed open again. A collection of burly men stormed in, each brandishing knives, pipes, and other crude weapons. At the front was a human with a shaved head and a vest open to display a tattoo of a Mantellian Savrip on his bare chest, resting one hand on a blaster holstered in his belt while his other hand was wrapped in an iron chain, and at his side stood a Gran brandishing his own blaster and staring out at the crowd with his three beady eyes.

"You," the leader grunted, jabbing the blaster in Arthen's direction, "out."

"What's this ab-"

Before the Jedi could finish his sentence, Arthen dutifully got up and strolled out of the cantina, leaving Tor, Al'dris, and W-3PO behind. The leader looked back at his underlings, one of them tapping a pipe in his hand in anticipation. "I reckon these are the ones, boys. Let's make sure they don't leave Ord Mantell any time soon."


End file.
